I firmly believe that a smile and a short haircut take years off a mature woman’s face. But that does nothing for her upper arms, which under certain climatic conditions can become billowing spinnakers the likes of which Larry Ellison only wishes he could buy. This has been bothering me for a long time. Global warming, ISIS, and vulnerability to cyber-attack aside, this is a crisis of national importance.
It all begins with one, except in the case of Adam and Eve, which predated society’s obsession with perfection, so I decided to do something to improve my little corner of the world. To make America beautiful…to counteract the insecurity that Michelle Obama with all her good intentions has wrought on the women of our country. Just call me Lady Bird.
Since I am a Very Busy Person educating the public about real estate, and writing books about real estate, and selling houses so I can afford to write books about real estate, I need to approach this in the most expeditious way. So I scheduled an appointment with my sports doctor, the one who told me “not many women your age are still jogging.” Forgiveness is divine.
He strolls into the exam room. “I see you listed ‘faulty triceps’ as the issue. What’s going on?”
“Can you fix this?” I ask, raising my arm and letting it blow in the resulting breeze.
“That’s just part of normal aging,” he comments. “No one looks at your triceps.”
I should find a woman sports doctor.
“Well, yes they do. I do. Granted, you men look at other body parts until you’re startled back to a woman’s upper arms. But then you look, and it ain’t pretty.”
“OK. So let’s start with building body strength and balance. You should be more concerned with that.”
“Doc, if I could suck in my arms I wouldn’t be here. I do my Nordic Track minus the arm pulleys every day. And I have 3-, 5-, and 10-pound weights under the sofa. I’m strong. Enough. I came to see you because:
• You pride yourself on keeping patients out of the hospital, and I don’t want this to go south on me,
• Surely there must be a scientific shortcut to buff arms,
• And I need a guarantee that the time I invest in this exercise will be proportionate to the benefits derived.”
Dr. L: “You want a guarantee?! Never in my entire career has anyone asked me for a guarantee!”
Me: “Well, Helllllo! Isn’t medicine all about progress?”
He glances at his watch. In 20 minutes he can bill me for a half-hour consultation, so he draws some stick figures on a piece of paper. They do not have horns, or he erased them before showing the paper to me.
“Do these twice a day and come back in a month.”
“Great. Does this guarantee I can go sleeveless?”
“What’s your alternative?” he asks.
“A new wardrobe.”
He just stares. Which is not convincing. So I fired him and signed my husband up at the gym on the way home.
(To be continued)
Clip art: ClipartPanda.com